


Switching Tracks

by detafo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sliding Doors (1998), crossover - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, M/M, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detafo/pseuds/detafo
Summary: What started out as a way to keep my mind busy, soon became this... travesty? A BBC Sherlock/Sliding Doors crossover.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the biggest fan of Gwyneth Paltrow... I think she's a poor actress and a bit of a flake... but I absolutely adore the movie 'Sliding Doors' (even if her British accent is atrocious) ... and so I thought, what if I told a Sherlock Homes story in the way of Sliding Doors?? I'm already bashful about writing this, but it's been making my head hurt, so I had to write it... I have been known to flake out, so hopefully I can keep a grip on this to see it through to the end.
> 
> This is unbeta'ed... any and all mistakes belong to me and my caffeine induced rage typing.

It was his alarm that annoyed him. Always, precisely at 6:00, the radio would start playing. Usually it was a news station, if he had anything to say about it, but sometimes Victor changed it to a music channel just to mess with him.

As usual, he was up and dressed long before the alarm went off and, in his haste to turn the insulting blare of some awful American pop song, he spilled tea on an old cold case file that lay on his bedside table. Muffling a curse, he wiped the tea off with a wad of tissues, gazed at the figure still asleep in bed, turned on his heel and made his way out of the bedroom and the dingy ground floor flat he and his lover shared.

As the door clicked shut and three locks were turned, Victor turned over in bed and gazed at the bedroom door to make sure Sherlock wasn’t coming back, and turned his mobile to silent.

-+-

Sherlock Holmes hurried down the street from the tube station, tea-stained folder in his jacket, which was also blocking him from the chill of the wind. Burying his face further into his scarf, his pale cheeks blooming a soft pink, he hurried up the steps of New Scotland Yard.

Muttering to himself as he passed by administration, he ignored the feeble protests of the young WPC and barrelled through to Cold Cases, where he stopped at a desk and practically threw the folder in front of the man sitting there. “I really don’t know how you manage to breathe, blink and walk at the same time without an audio cue, Dimmock.” He drawled. “Why is this in Cold Cases? It’s obvious who the murderer was.”

“Well, it’s not… it’s not obvious to _me_.” Dimmock said, shaking his head. “Go on, then. Impress me.”

“Dimmock!” Both Dimmock and Sherlock started at the sudden roar from the office of the Chief Inspector, and turned to see said Chief Inspector practically vibrating with rage as he stared at the young Inspector and the civilian. “My office. _NOW_!”

Dimmock was first to entre the office, somewhat meekly, followed by Sherlock, whose scowl only deepened when he saw who else occupied the room.

“Really, Mycroft, did you have to spoil my day? And so early, too.”

Mycroft Holmes’ sardonic smile didn’t waver. “Now, now, brother mine. I’ve been speaking with the Chief Inspector for a few minutes before you came barrelling into NSY with your analogies and theories of what happened to Mr and Mrs Carpenter of Surrey, some twenty years ago.” He smirked and turned back to the Chief Inspector. “I would apologise for my younger brother’s tactless entrance, but I’m afraid he’ll only try to override what I’m trying to say. Good day to you, Chief Inspector.”

He picked up his briefcase and umbrella and all but glided out of the office, shutting the door with a soft _click_.

The Chief Inspector sat down against behind his desk and glowered at the two men standing before him. “Dimmock, I’ve told you time and again for letting this civilian read our files.”

“Yes, sir.” Dimmock mumbled.

“And I’ve told you what would happen if I caught him here again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. Desk duty. And you,” He pointed a pudgy finger at Sherlock, who stared at him disdainfully. “Get out of my station.”

“With pleasure. And I’ll be taking my ‘analogies and theories’ with me, since you obviously don’t need my help.” Sherlock spun around, his Belstaff buffeting on the slight breeze and opened the door, flouncing to Dimmock’s desk and gathering the folder. It was only a copy, anyway.

-+-

**Back at the flat, Victor leaned against the front door as he closed it, staring unblinking at the man in front of him slowly undoing the buttons of his over coat to reveal lacy lingerie.**

-+-

Stomping his way back to the street, Sherlock muttered insults toward the Chief Inspector, his brother and other choice authority figures, gripping his coat around him again. He passed a familiar alleyway and gave a cursory glance down it, but did not see the figure he was looking for, and continued on, muttering again, toward the tube station, bumping into someone and dropping his file as he turned.

“Whoops!” The much shorter man bent and picked up the dropped folder and handed it back. “Sorry about that!” Before disappearing into the tidal wave of pedestrians that crowded the walkway.

Dull, tedious, boring. He had nothing else to do… and not even his dealer was around to sell him a little pick-me-up.

He fed his travel pass through the machine and entered the station, toward his usual platform. Hearing the train coming as he got half way down the stairs, he began to hurry. If he got home early, maybe he and Victor could get a take away and enjoy the afternoon together before Victor had to go to his job at the club.

With his thoughts clouding his head, he didn’t see the small child playing with his toy car on the bannister and was able to only just stop them both from colliding and falling down the rest of the stairs. Dodging around the boy, he raced to the train, only to have the doors close in his face.

Muffling what seemed to be the umpteenth curse of the day, he slapped the door in frustration as the train began to move again. He stood there for a minute, wondering why his day had very suddenly gone to shit.

-+-

**_Alternatively…_ **

_With his thoughts clouding his head, he didn’t see the small child playing with his toy car on the bannister. Just as he was preparing to stop himself, the little boy’s father reached out and grabbed him, pulling him out of the way, and Sherlock continued down the stairs unencumbered._

_The train doors were just closing when Sherlock wedged a hand between them, forcing them open and clambering onto the car in relief. He found a seat facing the door and sat, pulling the case file out of his coat and flipping through, needing something to read as he travelled. He could go into his Mind Palace, but the last time he’d done that on the Tube, he’d ended up at the end of the line, with a station hand shaking him out of his stupor and having to find a very expensive cab home. Mycroft’s card had worked, but he’d gotten an endless talking to from his brother about how stupid he could be._

-+-

Sherlock gave a defeated sigh and looked about to find a seat to sit on while he waited for the next train.

_“This is a customer service update. Due to a derailment at Farringdon, we are experiencing extreme delays. We recommend using alternative transport.”_

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and turned to ascend the stairs once more.

As he got out to the street, he raised his hand to hail a cab. Seeing a car put its indicator on and begin to edge over to the curb, Sherlock put his arm down and waited patiently.

All of a sudden, his head collided with the lamppost he was standing next to, and a pathetic excuse for a teenager picked up his skateboard, bellowed some crude insult toward Sherlock and ran off.

Sherlock, having not expected the collision, was shaken. He jumped violently as a hand touched his shoulder.

“You right there, mate?” An older man _– the cabbie,_ his brain supplied – helped him to his feet. “Cor, little bastard copped you a good one.” The man pulled out a crumpled tissue from his pocket and held it out. “It’s clean. Put some pressure on that cut and we’ll get you to the A  & E, get it stitched, eh?”

Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible and allowed the cabbie to guide him to the back seat, shutting the door and getting into the driver’s seat, heading toward the closest hospital.

-+-

_Sherlock sat on the train, wiling away the time with his file open on his lap. There was some annoying noise to his left – something that sounded like a squeaky wheel caught in a blender - which he was tuning out._

_“Oasis, huh?” A voice immediately to his left, asked. “You know Liam Gallagher is a tosser for thinking he’s John Lennon reincarnated, right?”_

_There was silence from the squeaky-wheel. Ah, so it was someone singing… badly._

_“Really, he was, what, eight years old when Lennon was shot, so how could he be a reincarnation? He just uses that as an excuse to nick off with melodies and lyrics.” The voice seemed to be directed at Sherlock. “Isn’t that right? Oasis is just a shit rip-off of the Beatles.”_

_“Wouldn’t know.” Sherlock said, looking briefly at the man and the squeaky wheel._

_“’Course you do, we spent our young adult years being assaulted with their music!” The squeaky wheel seemed to be ignoring the voice, now, so they turned their attention to Sherlock. “Not a fan of the Beatles, obviously.”_

_Sherlock pressed his lips together in an effort to not make a scene on public transport. His brother wasn’t here, so there was no use embarrassing just himself._

-+-

The cab pulled into the drop off bay of Barts and the cabbie helped the much taller man into the Accident and Emergency ward. Passing off the bleeding man to a student nurse, he big Sherlock adieu and went back to his car. Sherlock mumbled a thank you and was led to a bed where the nurse could assess the damage and stitch the wound.

-+-

_“It’s funny how nobody talks on a Tube, isn’t it?” The voice to his left said. “Not that I really catch the Tube, myself. I usually take buses. But it must be the confined spaces, because everyone seems to shut down and move like low tide, suspicious of everyone and thinking their all deranged psychopaths, or something.”_

_“Sociopaths.”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“Sociopaths would blend into the crowds easier. Psychopaths would get the train shut down quite quickly.” Sherlock turned a page in his file._

_“True enough… but as I was saying, people shut down and pretend to read their books, papers, files… you have a horrible tea stain on your folder, by the way.” Sherlock huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes before looking at the man._

_“Look, you’d know if I was intentionally being rude, but all I want to do is review this file.”_

_“Oh, I’m sorry.” The greying-blonde man smiled. “I’m in a good mood today, so I’m extra chatty… sorry.” Suddenly he leaned forward and looked at Sherlock. “Have we met before?”_

_Sherlock stifled a groan._

_“No, seriously… you look rather familiar to me.” He peered at Sherlock. “Ah, that’s it! I ran into you outside the NSY. You dropped your folder. I picked it up for you.”_

_“Oh, yes. So, you did.” Sherlock said._

_“Are you a police officer?”_

_“God, no. Dull, tedious. But I did get kicked out of the station. Happy?”_

_“Oh, that’s… that’s terrible, I’m sorry.” The man looked concerned._

_“It’s fine. You weren’t the cause of it. Look, I thank you for being concerned about me, thank you for picking up my file, I’m glad you’re in a good mood, et cetera, but I just want to peruse this paperwork, all right?”_

_The man nodded, thoughtfully._

-+-

In the hospital, Sherlock lay down on the bed, against his will as the nurse put a sticking plaster to the stitched cut on his brow.

-+-

_“Well, this stop is me.” The man said. “Look, I’m only telling you in case you get off here as well and you think I’m following you, but I’m not. Promise.” He paused. “I honestly didn’t mean to offend you, please forgive me. I’m really not a psychopath, or even a sociopath. I’m sorry.”_

_The train stopped and the doors hissed open, the man getting up and heading toward the platform. After a beat, Sherlock shut his file and jumped out of the car just before the doors slid shut. “It’s all right… I_ am _a sociopath.” He said, touching the shorter man on the shoulder. “Or so I’ve been told. I’m not very good at… at…”_

_“Making conversation?” The man smiled. “I’m John. John Watson.” He held out a hand to shake. Sherlock paused momentarily and took the proffered hand, shaking it slightly._

_“Sherlock Holmes.” He said, feeling a warmth in his chest. He rarely liked new people he’d just met, but there was something about John._

-+-

**Victor grinned at his lover, Jim, as some kind of pop music wafted from the clock radio. They kissed heatedly, Jim grinding his pelvis into Victor’s towel-clad groin, causing the taller man to groan softly.**

**“I could never figure out why we didn’t keep going, Victor.” Jim’s Irish lilt was more pronounced with lust.**

**“You went back to Ireland and I stayed here.” Victor smiled.**

**“I came back though!” Jim mock-whined. “Only to find you’d moved on without me and shacked up with some bit of fluff.”**

**“I’ve known him since we were children.”**

**“So? You didn’t shag as kids, so why start now?” Jim smirked.**

-+-

_“I live with my boyfriend… at least, that’s what he calls himself. I find the term rather vulgar.”_

_“Oh? I don’t think I’ve had so-called soulmates confide in me this much.” John chuckled. “And what would he say to you walking about London with some strange bloke in broad daylight?”_

-+-

**Each holding up a glass of single-malt, they toasted each other silently before sharing a hungry, whiskey-flavoured kiss.**

-+-

_“Well, it was nice to meet you, Sherlock. I am sorry about the NSY kicking you out… I suppose being an Aquarius can be a bit intimidating to some people.” John grinned, holding out his hand again, which Sherlock shook easily. “Remember what Monty Python’s Flying Circus taught you.”_

Monty Python’s Flying Circus… TV show, 1969 to 1983, intermittently to present, _his brain supplied._ _“What’s that? That whistling song?”_

_“God, no… ‘Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition’.” John winked and turned away down the street._

-+-

At the hospital, Sherlock decided that he couldn’t concentrate on texting, so pressed his speed dial to call Victor. The line rang out and he rang off with an indignant huff. Lazy bastard was probably sleeping.

-+-

_Sherlock slid his key into the first of the locks and was surprised to find the door swung open easily. He was sure he’d locked all three… it was something he was quite meticulous about. His ears pricked to the sound of music (could it be called as such?) coming from the bedroom and he almost stumbled over a greatcoat that had been tossed on the floor haphazardly._

_Narrowing his eyes, he stalked down the hall and pushed the bedroom door open to find Victor on his hands and knees on the bed as a shorter fellow pounded heavily into him. Both were moaning grotesquely. Sherlock stood, somewhat mesmerised by the vision before him, before Victor opened his eyes and stared at his lover in shock._

_“Shit!” He groaned. “Stop, stop, stop!”_

_“What?! What is it?!” The Irish lilt was jarringly thick with lust. The unknown man opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock, before rolling his eyes and pulling out of Victor to sit to the side._

_“I didn’t think you liked that sort of music. Certainly not that kind of stuff they play at the club.”_

_“I… I do sometimes.” Victor said, haltingly. He reached over and turned the radio off._

_“You know, you really shouldn’t just stop like that… you’ll have a raging case of incurable blue balls for a week.” Sherlock continued, as though unperturbed by the scene in front of him. “Who is he?”_

_“He’s Jim.” The fellow said, butting into the conversation. The silence stretched across the room. Sherlock refused to acknowledge him. Jim stood and pulled his trousers on, before sauntering past Sherlock and gathering his things before heading out the door._

_“Well, I’ve had a shit day.” Sherlock continued. “My brother was at NSY and I got kicked off a case. And so have you, it seems.” Victor swallowed hard. “Want a cup of tea?”_

_“That… that’d be lovely.” Victor whispered, face burning with shame._

_All of a sudden, Sherlock’s temperament turned and he rushed at Victor, hands slapping and clawing at him as he screamed obscenities at his soon-to-be-ex-lover’s face. Victor cowered under the barrage of blows._

-+-

Sherlock sat, wedged in the corner of the back seat of the cab, partially venturing into his Mind Palace as the vehicle rolled along. As the cab pulled up at the corner, the driver refusing to turn down the dingy street, a sleek black car screeched around the corner. No doubt some rich twat needing a bump.

-+-

_“I come home to find you taking it up the arse from some Irish twink?!” Sherlock raged, throwing a discarded ash tray at the wall. The smashing glass did nothing to soothe his temper. “How long, you arse? Do you love him? No… don’t tell me.” He stormed toward the bedroom door before whirling back around. “No,_ do _tell me. I’m only asking because I need to know how big of an idiot I’ve been and for how fucking long.”_

_“Look… Sherlock….” Victor started, gathering the ratty duvet around him. “Look…”_

_But his protestations were too late. Sherlock spun on his heel and stormed out of the flat, slamming the door so hard, the windows rattled, threatening to break._


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Sliding Doors belong to their respective people... I merely play and put the toys back in the box when I'm done.

Sherlock alighted from the cab after paying the driver and hurried down the street to his door. Unlocking the three bolts, he pushed the warped door out of the frame and let it swing open, the hinges squeaking in protest. Toward the back of the flat, he could hear the shower running. Ah, so Victor had been sleeping.

“Hello?” He called.

The shower door rattled in its track. “Sherlock? That you?” Victor called out.

“No, it’s your side piece.” Sherlock called back. “Thursday, boffing day, remember?”

The shower turned off quickly as Sherlock walked into the bedroom. The room was in a state worse than when Sherlock had a tantrum. “You’ve been sleeping all day, you lazy shit.” He said. Victor came into the bedroom, rubbing at his strawberry blonde hair with a towel.

“Yeah… after you left, I just blacked out. Didn’t sleep too well last night and…” He dropped the towel from his face and stared wide eyed at Sherlock’s face. “Jesus Christ, what happened to your face?”

“Depends what story you want first.” Sherlock mumbled.

“What?”

“Well, I got knocked over by a-” Sherlock was interrupted by Victor jumping over to the bed and switching off the radio. “What the hell?”

“I can’t _stand_ that bloody song.” Victor said, vehemently. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Sherlock gazed at him for a long moment. “Well, I got knocked over by some stupid skateboarder, and I got kicked off the case I was working on… only not in that order.” He sighed, defeatedly. “Also, Mycroft was at the NSY and… and…” His face bloomed red as he felt tears pricking that backs of his eyes.

“Hey, hey…” Victor wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shaking shoulders and hugged him. While it was odd for him to be affectionate toward Sherlock, it was even odder for Sherlock to let emotions claim him. “Sit down, love… sit down… you’re in shock, I think… do you want a drink?”

At this, he leapt up and hurried to the dresser, pouring two fingers of single malt whisky into a glass.

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Sherlock said, dumbly. “Why would I start drinking now?”

Victor shrugged and downed the liquor, wincing as it burned its way down his throat. “Quite right.”

Sherlock’s brow creased. “Are you all right? You’re acting really weird.”

“Fine, fine.” Victor nodded. “Now, tell me what happened.”

-+-

_Sherlock stood, leaning against the rail of the Albert Bridge, overlooking the Thames as his mind reeled at the scene he’d walked in on. To be frank, he’d had his doubt about Victor’s monogamy for a while, but had never been interested to prove whether he was cheating or not. But seeing his lover playing bottom to some unknown Irish looker was a sudden punch in the guts, metaphorically speaking._

_With a defeated sigh, he took off the cheap silver band that Victor had given him on their fifth date and tossed it into the river, clenching his teeth to stop the threat of angry tears pouring down his cheeks._

-+-

Sherlock shook his head. “All I could think, whiling lying there getting stitches, was ‘if only I’d managed to get the train… I would have been home a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh, well you can’t go into that sort of thinking, I mean, what if this, what if that… it just muddles completely with your head.” Victor said, with a slight smile. “You’re home now… that’s all that matters, yeah?”

“I suppose so.” Sherlock mumbled.

“C’mon.” Victor said with a gleeful grin. “Wash your face and put on that best suit of yours… we’re going out.”

“Can’t you’ve got work tonight.”

“Oh, fuck work. I’ll call in a favour and we’re going to the pub. We’ll get alarmingly off our heads, get slung out of the pub for insulting people with your deductions, then we’ll go and get a large Indian take away, too much for both of us to eat, we’ll eat until we’re full to bursting, then you can throw it all up on the landlord’s doorstep.”

Sherlock mustered a slight grin. “What did I do to deserve you, Victor?”

-+-

_“Victor, he’s not here!” The brunette woman glowered at the man on her doorstep. “You can come in and search the flat, but I keep telling you he’s not here!”_

_“Molly, please! You’re Sherlock’s closest friend… do you know where he could be?!”_

_She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’ve you done? Can’t be very good if he’s up and left you – finally.” She glared._

_“Look, if he comes around, can you at least give me a call?” Victor asked, desperately._

_“Like you said, Victor. I’m Sherlock’s closest friend…If he comes around, I’ll do what he wants. Piss off.” With that, she slammed the door in his face._

_“Everything all right, dear?” Mrs Hudson, the landlady poked her head out of her door. “Sounded a bit heated.”_

_“Everything’s fine, Mrs Hudson.” Molly smiled. “I’m going out to look for Sherlock… is it all right if he stays here?”_

_“Of course, it is! He’s a nice boy, that one… was that his boyfriend at the door?”_

_“Ex-boyfriend, it seems.” Molly said, putting on her coat. “I shouldn’t be out late, and I’m sorry if we’re noisy when we come back…” She smiled._

_“Just go and fine the poor dear, Molly. We don’t want him hurting himself.”_

__=__

_Sherlock sat at the near empty bar of his favourite pub, an open bottle of whisky and a shot glass next to him, packet of newly opened cigarettes beside his left hand. Though he wasn’t allowed to smoke at the bar anymore, he took a deep whiff of the strong tobacco every so often, as he downed glass after glass of Johnnie Walker. The barkeep, a young girl named Clara, didn’t object, as he’d paid for the whole bottle, but she kept an eye on him. Heartbreak was terrible thing to witness._

__=__

_“Well, he’s got a point.” Irene said, looking at Victor over her glass of wine. “You can’t stand the music they play at the club.”_

_“Irene, this really isn’t helping.” Victor muttered, head in his hands. “What do I do?”_

_“Look, you’ve been telling me for ages that you couldn’t deal with juggling between Jim and Sherlock, and you wish you’d never gotten involved with Jim again.”_

_“I know.”_

_“And you don’t think you’re cut out for the cheating lifestyle, but you can’t break it off with Jim, because you don’t know how he’s react.”_

_“I know.”_

_“And I said, if you remember my exact words, that something ungoverned by you would happen to bring this whole sordid affair to a head.”_

_“I know all this, Irene!”_

_“Well, something has.” She leaned back, laughing quietly to herself, sipping her wine as Victor looked on helplessly, looking like a lost puppy._

_“It’s not funny, Irene.”_

_“Oh, darling, I beg to differ. It is funny, it’s hilarious. I mean, look at you… it’s not as though your bustling about the place trying to find Sherlock, is it?”_

_“I went to Molly’s! He wasn’t there.”_

_“Oh, you went to Molly’s. Christ, you’re like a one-man search and rescue unit.” Irene shook her head and set her glass down. “Do you want my opinion?”_

_“Will I like it?” Victor asked, warily._

_“Of course not. It’s based in this reality.”_

__=__

_Sherlock stared gloomily at his empty glass and took another whiff of his cigarettes._

_“Mate, you don’t just say this kind of stuff.” The door had opened and a pair of men strolled in. “Donovan has made it abundantly clear that if Camille sets foot in the building again, she’s going to rip out her lungs with her bare hands. Something I’d quite like to see, but it’s against my best interest as a copper to be witness to any of that.”_

_“I don’t get it, Greg.” John Watson said with a shake of his head. “You’ve been divorced how long? And she’s still giving you absolute shit at work? I’d get a restraining order put on her.”_

_“Do that and she’ll deny my rights to see the kids.”_

_John shrugged. “Then there’s no pleasing you, mate.” He grinned, scanning the pub, eyes landing on Sherlock’s hunched form at the end of the bar. “Sherlock.”_

_Sherlock looked up blearily, frowning._

_John put a hand on his own chest. “John… rather talkative bloke on the Tube today.”_

_“Oh… right.” Sherlock said, nodding. “Hi.”_

_John wandered closer. “You look all stressed up and nowhere to go… it’s only a case, I’m sure you’ll get another one.” Sherlock looked at him blankly. “Oh, there’s something else, isn’t there? Well, I’m not forcing you, but if you wanna talk about it, I’m happy to listen. Or would you rather I pissed off and minded my own business?”_

_“When I left you at the station…” Sherlock said, unable to stop the words tumbling from his mouth. “I got back to my flat and caught Victor…” He took a breath._

_“In bed with another bloke?” John asked. At Sherlock’s minute nod, he sighed. “What a bastard.”_

_“It’s fine… you didn’t know.” Sherlock said, voice shaking._

_“No, not me. Victor, he’s a bastard.” John clarified. “Sorry, it’s not my business.”_

_“It’s fine.” Sherlock sighed shakily._

_“Well, look… if it makes you feel better, you see that bloke at the end of the bar?” He gestured to his friend, Greg. “Not only did his wife leave him two years ago and keeps making his life absolute hell, but his favourite tv program is_ Days of Our Lives _.” Sherlock huffed a laugh. Greg certainly didn’t look the type to enjoy that sort of program. Greg grinned and gave a thumbs up. “So, remember that there’s always someone more tragic that you.” There was a pause as Sherlock calmed down. “Do you love him?” John asked._

_“No.” Sherlock shook his head. “I could never love someone with such a shit taste in so-called television.”_

_John barked a laugh. “See, even in the depths of your depression, you can make a joke. That’s very good.” His expression softened. “Look, if you decide you want some company, we’re just over there, okay? I’m really sorry, Sherlock.” He smiled gently and walked back to his friend._

_Sherlock stared after him for a moment, then looked down at the bar again._

-+-

Victor pulled a mildly protesting Sherlock through the door of the pub, almost colliding with a shorter blonde man and his salt-and-pepper haired friend. Heading to the bar, Victor got the girl’s attention.

“Two of your largest pints of bitter and a large Johnnie Walker… and I’ll have the same please.” He said with a cheerful grin. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

The next hour passed in a blur of drinking and laughing until they decided to vacate the bar and sit in a recently vacated booth, as standing became too much of a chore for either of them. Sherlock bumped into the blonde fellow at the bar and slurred an apology, before sitting down.

-+-

_Molly walked into the bar that she knew Sherlock preferred. Looking around, she spotted her friend at the end of the bar, looking forlorn and miserable. She hurried over to him. “Hey… Victor came looking for you.” She said gently. “Is it what I think it is?”_

_“Depends.” Sherlock mumbled. “If what you think happened is I came home to find him being shagged by Jim in our bed?”_

_“Pretty much.” Molly winced._

_“Then yes,” Sherlock’s voice broke. “It is.” His face crumbled and Molly put her arms around him, letting him cry into her shoulder. He let his emotions free once he’d had too much to drink._

-+-

“You wanker.” Sherlock said fondly, looking over his pint glass at Victor.

There was a sound of muffled ringing and Victor raised his eyebrows, fishing his phone out of his pocket, taking a quick look at Caller ID. “Hello?”

_“This morning was excellent.”_ The Irish lilt purred down the line, making goose bumps rise on Victor’s skin.

“Hello?” He asked again. “No, sorry… can’t hear you!” And he rang off. “Didn’t even know it still had juice.” He said with a grin. “Okay… cheers.”

-+-

_“I’ve got to get going, Greg.” John said with a smile. “Early shift tomorrow.” He made a face. “Sarah’s got me on first call clinic duty.” He patted Greg on the back as a farewell, raising his hand to Sherlock before he left._

_Sherlock waved drunkenly back._

_“Who’s that?” Molly asked, curious about this stranger._

_“My friend.” Sherlock slurred, leaning against her shoulder. Molly chuckled._

_“Come on… let’s get you home, drunken idiot.” She helped him stand and steered him toward the door. Outside, it was raining, and Sherlock gasped at the cold wind in his face._

_“Can I offer you a lift anywhere?” The question came from the back of a cab at the curb. John looked out the window._

_“Um, yeah… that’s be great, thank you.” Molly said with a thankful smile. John got out of the cab and helped her manhandle Sherlock into the cab._

_“Hands up if you drank too much.”_

_“Not drunk.” Sherlock slurred._

_“Put a wick in his mouth and he’d burn for a fortnight.” Molly joked, climbing into the cab ahead of John. As he closed the door, Molly told the cabbie the address. “221B Baker Street, please.”_

-+-

“Okay, one more forkful.” Victor chided, lifting the fork to feed Sherlock the last bite of the Indian takeaway.

“No!” Sherlock protested. “Come on, Victor! I’ll be sick all over.”

“Well, you can still do that, just go upstairs to the landlord’s door.” Victor said with a gleeful grin. Sherlock laughed.

-+-

_“He doesn’t fancy me.” Sherlock mumbled petulantly. “He offered us a lift. He was just being concerned, that’s all.”_

_“Uh huh.” Molly said, guiding him up the stairs to the second bedroom. “And if he’d been that concerned about me, I wouldn’t be helping you into bed right now.” She lay him down on the bed and removed his shoes and jacket._

_“Am I in bed?” He seemed surprised by this revelation._

_“Yep.” Molly smiled. “You’re staying with me until we get you back on your feet. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”_

-+-

“Just fine…” Victor huffed as he stumbled into the flat with a very drunk Sherlock over his shoulder. Kicking the door shut, he put Sherlock to bed and slipped off both their shoes, before heading to the bathroom to clean up before retiring himself.

“Are you some yet undiscovered breed of total fucking idiot?” He muttered, looking at himself in the mirror. “You have two mental problems. One, that was close. _Very_ close. To put it simply, he almost _caught_ you with Jim. Two, and this is far more worrying… you’re talking to yourself in the bathroom mirror again… really bad sign, Vic.”


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh... I know... following the movie, pretty much... but apparently m,y muse left me as soon as I started jotting this down. Don't judge me :)

_Molly’s soft tread on the stair didn’t even wake Sherlock from his booze-fuelled sleep. She smiled slightly, seeing him all tucked up in bed, looking more human than she’d ever really seen him. Carefully, she balanced a cup on tea on the night stand and touched his shoulder. “Sherlock.”_

_“Mmmph…”_

_“There’s a cup of tea and some paracetamol on the bedside table.” She said, softly. “Time to get up. It’s past ten.”_

_She left him alone to drag himself out from under what had the potential to be a very bad hangover._

_“How is the poor love?” Mrs Hudson asked from the bottom of the stairs. “He looked a bad sight last night.”_

_“I think he’ll be all right.” Molly said, soothingly. “But if that Victor comes around again, I’m going to give him a swift kick in the knackers for treating Sherlock like this.”_

_Mrs Hudson smiled. Molly was far too gentle to do such a thing, but she understood the sentiment._

_“I’ll make some breakfast for him. From the way he smelled last night, I’d say he could use some feeding up.”_

_“Thank you so much, Mrs Hudson.” Molly smiled._

-+-

The shower door rattled in its track as Victor opened it to playfully pinch at Sherlock’s nose. “Sherlock, come on… time to wake up… you can’t sleep in the shower.”

“Fuck off and watch me.” Sherlock mumbled, feeling especially sick from all the Indian food the night before. Even after throwing up most of it in the bathroom (he hadn’t made it upstairs), he felt like death. Getting out of the shower and drying off, he exited the bathroom, dressed in his threadbare pajama pants and a loose grey shirt. He sat down at his battered, old laptop and began looking at his website for some possible cases. Grumbling in frustration when he found his inbox empty he looked up at Victor. “I suppose I can always break into Mycroft’s account again.”

“And have those suits busting in the front door? The landlord will kill us.” Victor rolled his eyes. “But, hey… if you need to money, why don’t you look for a part time job?” His suggestion died on his lips when he saw the look on Sherlock’s face. “Forget I said anything.”

-+-

_When Sherlock had finally gotten up, and showered, and, after much prodding, had eaten the bangers and beans Mrs Hudson had whipped up for him. Molly had sat him down, almost immediately._

_“God, you need a haircut.” She said with a smile in her voice. “How’s about we do that today? Fresh look for a fresh start?” She leaned forward and ran her fingers through his shaggy, unkempt curls._

_He shrugged his shoulders, still brooding._

_“Come on, Sherlock… I’m not going to have you sitting around here, moping all day. Let’s go out. I have a day off coming up in a week and a half, so come on. We’ll get you an appointment at Anderson’s and get chips for dinner.”_

-+-

“Come on, Mycroft. I need money.”

“You have your own.” Mycroft said, shaking his head. “Does investigating missing kittens and discovering who ate the last Jammy Dodger not pay as well as you’d hoped?”

“Well, we already know you ate the last Jammy Dodger.” Sherlock sniffed. “But, if you must know, since your little visit to the Chief Inspector, I’ve been all but kicked out of the cold case department. So, I figure you owe me what could be my only source of income.”

“You could get a job, you know.”

“Really, Mycroft, do you see any of the regular sort of goldfish hiring me to wait tables or deliver sandwiches?” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at the thought. “I suppose you have a point there.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. “I’m not going to just give you money. But perhaps you can do an investigative job for me…”

Sherlock groaned softly. “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m desperate. Tell me what you need done.”

-+-

_“There, you look much better.” Molly smiled as Sherlock got out of the barber’s chair. The bearded barber gave an oily type of smile, which Sherlock ignored._

_Almost two weeks had passed, Molly heading off to work at St Bart’s in the Pathology lab. Sometimes Sherlock tagged along because there was nothing better to do, sometimes he stayed in the flat and terrorised Mrs Hudson with outlandish theories about her missing husband, more often than not making her laugh._

_On Molly’s next day off, she sat across from Sherlock with a thoughtful look. “You don’t mean that, Sherlock.”_

_“Oh, I do.” Sherlock said, flipping through the newspaper, blankly scanning the headlines. “Truly and utterly over him.”_

_“Oh, you’re **over** him, are you?”_

_“Yep.”_

_“So, you were together for six years,” Molly mused. “and you’ve been sitting around the flat like a suicidal mistake for the last week-”_

_“Ten days!”_

_“Fine, ten days. But screw him?”_

_“Yes. Screw him.” Sherlock said, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Why hasn’t he even called to see if I’m all right? To admit he’s an arsehole? Hello, Sherlock, it's Victor. I’m an arsehole, please come home, I love you, all that shit. I don’t care. Screw him, I’m over it all.”_

_“Oh, sure.”_

_“Molly! Don’t be so flippant. If I say I’m over the cheating bastard, I’m over the cheating bastard. What makes you think I’m not serious?”_

_“Well, two things, really.” Molly said, with a raised eyebrow. “One, you’re counting the time apart in days, and possibly hours and minutes, if I know you as well as I think I do.” She smirked. “And two, you keep looking in the newspaper to see if he will get wiped out in some freak terrorist incident, thanks to your brother.”_

_“Smart arse.” Sherlock tossed the paper at her. Molly laughed and opened it._

_“What is he?”_

_“A half-wit.” Sherlock said. Molly stared at him. “Oh, um… Pisces.”_

_“Pisces…” Molly flipped through the pages, until she came to the horoscopes.  “Pisces… ah! Well, just goes to show how much I know.”_

_“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked._

_Molly began to read. “With Jupiter in its ascendancy, you will be wiped out in a freak terrorist incident, due to Mycroft Holmes' interference, and Sherlock says ‘screw you’. This person is very good at figuring out horoscopes.”_

_Sherlock managed to crack a smile, but it didn’t last long as the door bell chimed. “I thought I unplugged that? It was annoying.”_

_“Will you answer it?” Molly asked._

_“No… what if it’s Victor?” Sherlock looked perplexed. “You answer it, say I’m not here… I’m out, you don’t know who with.” Sherlock watched his friend, who made no move. “Well?”_

_“I am not answering the door while still in my pajamas, Sherlock!”_

_“Molly, please! It won’t be him, anyway!”_

_“Oh, so there’s no reason for you not to answer the door.” Molly grinned and sat back in her seat._

_Sherlock grumbled a half-hearted irritable retort, but finally heaved himself out of his chair, slowly plodding down the stairs. Mrs Hudson peeked out her door._

_“Oh, you did hear it… well, I’ll let you answer it, Sherlock, dear.” She said fondly, and the door snapped shut._

_Sherlock wrinkled his nose briefly and braced himself, opening the door to discover…_

_…John Watson._

__=__

_John slipped a forkful of pasta into his mouth, chewed and swallowed as he watched Sherlock picking at his meal. “Come on, if you don’t eat your carbohydrates, you’ll never achieve quality old-age paunch.” He smiled._

_Sherlock sighed softly._

_“The haircut suits you, by the way. No joke… the scruff was cute, but now you look genuinely hot.” John added. “One of my rules, never joke about someone’s job, unless they invite you to, don’t criticise a person’s appearance, or mood.”_

_“Look, John, maybe I shouldn’t be here….” Sherlock said, finally. “I feel bad. I mean, under…_ normal _circumstances, you’re really nice… and funny – it is hard to make me laugh. And my friend, Molly, think’s you’re cute…”_

_“Wait, wait wait… your friend Molly,_ your friend Molly _, thinks I’m cute? Shit, I just blew four pounds on the wrong date!” John chuckled. “Look, Sherlock… my belief is that sometimes we enter people’s lives when they just need a friendly face, to be cheered up in the midst of a bad depression, and sometimes it turns out to be your job. I don’t know why, but it’s my job to cheer you up.” He smiled. “Now, I’ll confess that just because I find you moderately attractive just makes the job easier on my end. My intentions are honorable, I have no purpose to exceed the line.” He looked thoughtful. “Do you prefer gold or silver? Sorry, sorry… bad timing.”_

_Sherlock was quiet for a beat. “Moderately attractive?” He asked in wonderment._

_“Ah, see I knew you were listening to me.” John grinned. “Lose the miserable look in your eyes, the sad mouth, I might be able to upgrade you. So, having definitely recognized the ground rules, what are you doing next Sunday?”_

_“Probably throwing myself off the top of Bart’s Hospital.”_

_“Awesome… what time do you think you’ll be finished?” John asked, amiably. “Do you like rugby?”_

_Sherlock chuckled despite himself._

-+-

The end scene of _Casablanca_ played on the small TV situated on the coffee table.

“You know we haven’t done that in almost three months?” Sherlock asked, wrapping his dressing gown around his lithe frame.

“Don’t be stupid…” Victor said with a slight laugh. “Three months? Are you counting?”

“Usually do.” Sherlock said. He didn’t much like sex, but was usually agreeable to when Victor wanted it. As such, he had a rather thorough timetable set up in his mind as to when Victor would want it. “Victor?”

“Mmm?”

“How did a glass end up in the laundry?”

“What? Is this Twenty Questions? Who had the most record sales in 1983?”

“I mean it… when I came home from the station two weeks ago, I’m sure there was a bottle of single-malt and two glasses on the dresser.”

“I don’t know, I can’t really say.” Victor schooled his face to be impassive.

“I’m sure there were.”

“Maybe I can say… you did have a bad knock to the head… I know there was one glass. I couldn’t sleep that night, so I got a drink to knock me out, it was still there when you came home. Maybe one of your mad junkie friends, or Molly dropped a glass in the laundry at some point.” He frowned. “Why don’t we spoil the moment completely… am I fucking a whisky drinker, yes?”

“Victor, ease up for Christ’s sake, I only asked a simple question.”

“Oh, no… you don’t ask.” Victor said, throwing his dressing gown on. “ _You_ imply. And you are implying, if I may be so bold…” He huffed. “Thank you, _very_ much, Sherlock. This is the perfect time to bring up the cracks in our relationship, isn’t it? It’s fucking _perfect_.”

“Victor, I asked and innocent question. There’s no need to turn into a gibbering mess like a politician on the stand.” Sherlock shook his head. “I was only asking.”

In answer, Victor merely picked up the plates that had held their dinner and stormed off to the small kitchen.

-+-

_As John drove his car up to the curb of 221B, Sherlock bit his lip. As the car idled, he got out and stood on the pavement for a moment. “Thanks for the outing, John… I’m sorry if you had a lousy time. I’m not a great date on my best days.”_

_“Are you joking? In my mind, you get to eat two plates of Alfredo in one sitting, that’s pretty much social elevation. One of the perks of being a shallow bastard.” He laughed. “Take care, Sherlock. You’ll be fine. I promise.”_

_Sherlock smiled, shutting the car door and heading back to 221B with a slightly more cheerful air about himself._

-+-

As Sherlock wiled away his time, helping his brother with small mysteries that confounded the usual brains of the British Government, he feared he’d actually begin to like this job. Of course, it wasn’t as challenging as some of the cold cases Dimmock would give him, but still… it kept his mind busy and it also kept him from making a total nuisance of himself with Victor and Molly. He’d spend hours wiling away, figuring out the who, the what, the when, the where and the why.

A few days later, he came home, muttering something about how he found it amazing that he could hate the fact that there were three different suspects, four different timelines and two different motives. It made his job all that much harder, but all that more satisfying. Victor was just finishing a cup of tea as he entered the flat.

“You going somewhere?” He asked, nonchalantly.

“Yeah… called in to take a half shift. Someone got sick on the job. I was about to write you a note.”

“Could’ve just texted me.” Sherlock mused.

“I find it nicer to level a letter… it’s a dying artform.” Victor grinned. “Would you rather I cancelled? There is still time for them to find a replacement?”

“No, it’s fine.” He smiled slightly as Victor kissed his cheek and headed out the door. But something bothered Sherlock, and he frowned, before waiting two minutes and heading out the door, keeping Victor in sight as he walked along toward the club.

Victor entered the club on High street and smiled at the patrons and the bar staff.

“Vic, what’re you doing here? You’re not on ‘til Friday!”

“I know. Just thought I’d check out the scene, you know me and the ever-evolving world of music.” Victor laughed.

Outside, Sherlock sighed and headed back toward the flat.

“Jim, what are you talking about?!” Victor exclaimed into his mobile phone. “I _said_ I was on a half shift at the club, so I came to the club… I can’t help if he followed me!”

“Why?”

“ I don’t know why he followed me! I’m not a bloody sleuth, Jim!” Victor closed his eyes as Jim began to rant and rave. “No, I can’t come now! What if he’s waiting around the corner for me? Jim, please don’t get hysterical, okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!!”

“Well, what if he followed us to Doncaster? I’ve booked the hotel; did you want me to cancel? Jesus Christ, Victor!”

“No! Don’t… don’t... don’t…” Victor stuttered.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t what? What do you want me to do, Victor?” Jim screeched down the line.

“I don’t know!” Victor slumped against the wall of the club. “Look, we’re going to Doncaster, okay? And we’re going to have a fantastic time! I’ll call you tomorrow!” And he rang off, hyperventilating.

-+-

_“That’s it… you no longer live with Victor.” Molly said, heaving the last box into the living room of 221B._

_“Thanks for going again, Molly.” Sherlock said, sitting at the table, chewing his lip at he pretended to read the paper. “And evidence of him?_

_“Not that I could see.” Molly said, confidently. She watched as Sherlock seemed to deflate against the kitchen table as the phone rang. She picked up. “Hello?” Before handing it to Sherlock. “It’s for you…. It’s John.”_

_Sherlock hesitated before taking the phone. “Hello?” He listened for a moment. “Tonight?”_

_Elsewhere in London, John smiled down the phone. “Yes, tonight, as in the tonight that comes immediately after today?”_

_Sherlock paused, cupping the speaker in his hand. “He wants to know if I can come out tonight?”_

_“Yes!” Molly urged, nodding. “Come on, Sherlock, you need to get out.” She smiled reassuringly._

_“Please, come.” John said, a smile evident in his voice. “It’ll be good fun.”_

_“Um…” Sherlock smiled. “Okay.”_

_“Great!” John grinned. “I’ll see you at seven.” He hung up the phone as a blonde woman entered the study where he’d been making the phone call. “Is she okay?”_

_“Yeah,” Said the blonde. “She doesn’t want to leave here, John. Rosie is too used to seeing her in this environment.”_

_“It’s just lucky she agreed to go into treatment when Clara suggested it…” John said, softly. “Else we’d be up shit creek. Rosie will get used to her new environment, so long as we visit her often.”_

_“You sure you’re okay looking after Rosie? I can postpone my trip to the States.”_

_“Mary, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity… you go. Rosie and I will be just fine, I promise.” John smiled. He headed out of the study toward the kitchen where his sister was waiting. “Hey, Harry.”_

_“It’s going to be hard to leave this place, John.” Harriet rarely got weepy._

_“But you’ve still got Clara’s flat, it’s much near the rehab hospital, and your art commission to help pay the rent.” John said, reassuringly. “Plus, you know you can get much better-quality Meth is the city.”_

_Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah. I know.”_

_“Remember what Monty Python’s Flying Circus always taught us.” John offered._

_“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.” Harry nodded. John laughed good-naturedly._

_“Exactly!”_

_=_

“So, let me get this straight.” Irene said, frowning into her glass of wine. “Jim is getting more and more demanding, but you feel bad because Sherlock is working for his brother to keep a steady pay check coming in?” She paused. “And you’ve asked Sherlock come to a possible new club location with you, in Doncaster, knowing he wouldn’t be able to make it, due to Mycroft’s hold on him, to cover up the fact that you’re really taking Jim? And despite Jim giving you an out over the phone, which you didn’t take, you idiot, you’re having a ethical dilemma?” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Victor, darling, you are a morality-free zone.”

“If I had no ethics, would I be discussing it?” Victor groused, staring at her.

“Whose idea was this trip?” Irene shot back. “Yours? I doubt it. It was Jim’s, wasn’t it?” She sighed. “I can see you want to get out of this Jim thing, Victor… and I foresee problems. I would bet ten quid that you’re talking to yourself in the looking-glass again…” She shook her head. “Really, _really_ bad sign.”

“You have no compassion!” Victor explod3ed angrily. “Why do I even both confiding in you?!”

“I’m your friend.” Irene began laughing, amused by his temper, as well as his predicament. “I’m here to help you!”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock belongs to Moftiss, Sliding Doors belongs to someone else, I owns nothing...  
> Also, there is a nondescript sex scene in this chapter, so if you don't like it, move along.

_The corner table was filled with raucous laughter as Sherlock sat back and listened to John imitate the famous Monty Python sketch that he based his good mood on. If he remembered correctly, John did a very passable Palin impression, but still, it was his fervor and he need to laugh that made it all the more entertaining._

_Around the table were John and Sherlock, Greg and his colleague, Sally Donovan, Mike Stamford, and his wife, Nicole. Sherlock had them all deduced within a few minutes, but chose to remain silent because there was some small part of him that didn’t want to screw up this… whatever it was… with John._

_The Italian food to share was set down in front of them and they each served themselves, Sherlock only taking a few small things to nibble at, not noticing John watching him out the corner of his eye._

_They spoke and drank a very nice red wine that accentuated the spices in the food, and Sherlock was surprised to find he was much more relaxed in this sort of setting that he thought he would be. His old friends were junkies, looking for the next hit, but this… this was friendly, with good food, good company. He sighed softly and the conversation turned to what they all did for work._

__=__

_“I’m am 100% serious!” John said with a chuckle as they strolled down the lamplit footpath toward 221B. “I saw you sussing out all my friends, I think you’d make a bloody good private investigator… and not just on cold cases, either!”_

_“No one’s ever really encouraged me to do what I do.” Sherlock mused. “It’s a means to an end, I suppose… no one would want me waiting tables or anything like that…I’d be terrible at it.” He managed a slight chuckle. “Do you really think I could do it? Start up my own investigative business?”_

_“Sure! You’ve got the experience, the knowledge, the contacts – Greg has a lot of cases he could use some help on. Do you want to spend your life working under someone else’s iron fist, or do you want to take control?” John smiled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”_

_“I could fail spectacularly and make a giant fool of myself?”_

_“Exactly, so what’s the problem?” John grinned. They laughed together as they stopped in front of Sherlock’s front door._

_“I had a good time tonight, John. A really good time.”_

_“Did you? Bollocks, I forgot. That’s not allowed, is it?” He smiled._

_“No, it’s not. Keep that in mind, because I’m getting over a catastrophe of a break up.” Sherlock had never felt this… free, never felt such an ease in talking to someone, not even Victor._

_“Sorry about that. Won’t let it happen again.” John’s eyes twinkled, cheekily. There was a pause for a long moment. “Well, uh… g’night, Sherlock.” John smiled, leaning up on tiptoes to kiss the taller man’s cheek. Sherlock managed a faint blush and a smile. “Hey, everything happens for the best, okay? You won’t know if you don’t try, yeah?” John grinned. “Wear warm clothes on Saturday… wind gets a bit bitey out at the rugby field.” He raised a hand in farewell as Sherlock turned to open the door. “Take care, Sherlock.”_

__=__

_The next day, Sherlock bit his lip as he raised his phone to look at it, typing out a text to his big brother._

_As much as I detest asking for help, especially from you, would you consider helping me on a personal endeavour? – SH_

_Personal endeavour? – MH_

_Yes or no, Mycroft. – SH_

_Depends. What kind of endeavour? Something to do with that doctor you’ve been out with? – MH_

_You know I hate it when you spy. Are you going to interrogate him? – SH_

_Now, now, brother mine. What do you need from me? – MH_

_I want to start up my own business. Consulting detective. – SH_

_‘Consulting Detective’? Where on earth did you come up with a name like that? – MH_

_Made it up. Only one in the world. I can help the police when they’re in over their heads. – SH_

_Which is more often than not, always. It’s an interesting idea. It’ll keep you out of mischief, I assume? – MH_

_Am I ever completely out of mischief? It’ll keep me busy and you won’t have to constantly worry about me interrupting your day with delusions of grandeur and it’ll keep my mind off smoking. – SH_

_Trying to quit? Again? – MH_

_Please, Mycroft? You know I hate to beg. – SH_

_Fine. Figure out expenses and I’ll see what I can do. – MH_

_Sherlock smiled to himself as Molly bustled into the lounge, looking for her other shoe. “So, what other ideas has John put past you?” She asked with a smile._

_“Molly, he’s a friend… he has good ideas, much to my surprise, but he’s just a friend. I’m not even remotely interested in him.” Sherlock said, not looking up from his phone._

_“Oh?” Molly chuckled. “If you’re not interested in him, why was last night the first night, since you’ve been living here, that you didn’t ask whether Victor had called as soon as you walked in the door?” She smirked._

_Sherlock merely pressed his lips together, hiding a smile and coughed slightly._

_Within a few days, his brother had come through with the money and he began advertising out of the living room, helping all sorts of clients with things from missing jewellery to staking out the café down stairs to see who was stealing from the pantry._

-+-

Sherlock bustled down the street, his Belstaff wrapped tightly around him as he entered the bank. Mycroft had been informed that someone from one of Sherlock’s previous cases was looking to speak with him, and now, here he was on his way.

Being led to the private office, he watched the man behind the desk as the door was closed by the receptionist.

The man appraised him with dark eyes. “Well, there’s no easy way to say this.” He said with an Irish lilt. “I’m afraid your deductions as to who was stealing money was wrong.”

Sherlock blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Since you came back to us with young supposed findings of the bank’s thief, we’ve had him fired, but the robberies keep happening.” The man continued. “I’ve had three of my staff report that their personal property is missing from their locked offices, despite all security measures taken. And yes, before you ask, these items went missing at around the same time, _after_ we fired the supposed culprit.” He took a breath. “Are you, per chance, trained to be a detective, or is this just a big game to you?”

“Actually, I was working for my brother.”

“Well, he’s not doing a very good job of vetting his employees, is he?” The man waved him away disdainfully. “You’re lucky I don’t sue you or your brother. Now, excuse me, but I have to find someone who will do their job properly and find the real culprit.”

Sherlock turned and stalked out of the office, a thunderous look on his face.

_=_

“Sorry?” Victor stammered. “Sherlock has been working a case at your bank”

“Yes,” Jim said, sipping at his glass of wine. “And today I had reason to summon him. Well, to be perfectly honest, I made up a reason. He’s quite handsome in a tall, cheek-boned kind of way, isn’t he?”

“Jim!” Victor put his face in his hands. “Have you gone completely off your rocker? He’s not stupid, you know!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Jim rolled his eyes. “I wanted to see what the guy you dumped me for was like! That’s all!”

“Hey, I did _not_ dump you for her! You went back to Ireland!”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I wanted to see what this guy, that you seem to have no intention of leaving – despite my best propositions – has that is so unleavable.” He rolled his eyes. “And I have to admit, I’m at a total loss.”

“Don’t talk like that. It’s ugly.” Victor said, forehead creasing. “I’ve told you before, I can’t leave Sherlock for… for… well, you know.”

“What? For me?” Jim slammed his glass on the coffee table. “Is that what you’re saying? You can’t leave him for me?”

“Well, you haven’t said that, have you?!”

“Oh, Victor.” Jim laughed. “I’m a jealous lover. I don’t say what I want. You have to figure it out… but, I do reserve the right to hold your balls in a vice if I don’t get it! That’s what makes me so fascinating… and maybe just a little bit frightening.”

_=_

Later, at home, Victor sat on the bed, trying to figure out where the argument with Jim had left him, when his mobile rang. Taking a deep breath, he answered it. “Hello?”

“Ah, darling… it’s your friendly neighbourhood lesbian here.” Irene’s voice all but purred down the line. “Look, wherever you were tonight, as if we need to ask, it wasn’t with me. Sherlock called around while I was with a late client, looking for you…”

The door to the flat slammed, making Victor jump. “Oh, okay, thanks Irene.”

“Your welcome, darling. Good luck.”

She rang off and Victor pressed ‘End Call’ as Sherlock came into the bedroom looking absolutely awful.  “Thank God… where’ve you been? I’ve been worried sick. I almost called your old dealer!”

“Been over at Molly’s. Needed to have a cup of tea with Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock grumbled. “I met the Devil’s even more unfriendly half-brother today and he completely punctured me.”

“I know.” Victor shook his head.

“What do you mean, you know?”

“Well, I can tell… you look like you’ve been run over by a bus!” Victor swallowed and Sherlock all but fell on the bed, back to him. He turned over.

“Where were you? I really needed to talk to you tonight.”

“The club called. I had to go in for an impromptu staff meeting.” Victor said, running his hand through Sherlock’s curls.

“You’re always at the fucking club.” Sherlock mumbled, petulantly. “I’m sick of working for Mycroft. I know when you get promoted, we’ll be living like kings, but… when _are_ you getting promoted, Victor?” He turned back over to face the door.

“Soon, love… soon.” Victor said, stroking his hair. “Sherlock… there’s something I’ve been meaning to confess… it has a little bit to do with the glass in the laundry, and a little bit to do with the fellow you met today…only, please let me finish before you get angry…okay?” He looked down at Sherlock. “Sherlock?”

But Sherlock was fast asleep, probably for the first time in many days.

Victor sighed. “Fuck.” He mumbled.

-+-

_The small crowd roared their approval, watching as the Vale team scored yet another point, thanks to John’s nimble catch of the ball and slamming it on the ground. Sherlock smiled, genuinely, as he watched John get hoisted up from the ground by one of his teammates, laughing and patting him on the back._

-+-

“That’s strange.” Sherlock muttered as he strolled the footpath with Molly, sharing chips. “I knew there was going to be a pick-up rugby game today with white and blue shirts.” He was quiet for a moment. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked, has Victor invited you along to Doncaster for this trip?”

“He has, but Mycroft has me running all sorts of stupid errands for him… things Anthea can’t do, apparently.” They walked in silence for a little while. “Molly, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure?” Molly looked at the taller man, somewhat perplexed.

“Did you drop a glass into the laundry at one of our little parties?”

“Sounds like a completely stupid thing to do… but I have been known to do strange things when I’m drunk.” Molly smiled. “Why?”

“Oh, just going crazier than usual.”

“Oh, well good. You had me worried for a minute.” She smiled. 

-+-

_The game resumed after a short water break and with John’s team in the lead, it was an easy win as the buzzer called for the end of the game. John laughed as he was hoisted in the air by his team for kicking the winning goal and they cheered happily before deciding that it was time for a quick change of clothes and to reconvene down the club for some well-earned drinks._

__=__

_John, as captain of the team, was forced up to address his teammates and lead them in a rousing rendition of their club song, which was quite the feat for a room full of ex-army doctors who’d had a skinful. There was singing and there was dancing. Sherlock watched, amused, refusing to join in, not because he didn’t know the words, but because he rarely did any such public performances._

_-+-_

_“Are you certain that it’s just a kink in the chain? Your boss has told you time and again that you deserve this promotion.” Jim asked, worriedly, though there was a slight whine to his voice. “You seem so distant at the moment. I’m here, Victor, if you need to talk it through… I could maybe even pull a couple of strings and get you that promotion faster.”_

_Victor stopped and stared through a window of a small, unassuming building. “Hey, that’s Sherlock in there! He… he’s had a haircut! And a shave!” He watched the team dancing and singing. “He seems to be watching them all have some kind of fit… I wonder if it’s for an experiment?” He didn’t notice Jim’s shoulders stiffen and the smaller fellow begin to stalk down the street. “Hey, Jim! Wait!”_

_“Maybe it isn’t a kink in the chain, Victor.” He seethed. “Maybe it’s Sherlock bloody Holmes! I don’t want to hear about Sherlock, I don’t care about Sherlock. The problem, though, is that you still do. Obviously.” He turned and stomped down the street a way before turning back. “Oh, I just thought of something you can say to your boss… get bent!”_

_Victor bit his lip and looked back in the window, debating whether to go and talk to Sherlock. After a moment, he shook his head and continued back the opposite way from which he’d come._

__=__

_“Yes, you do Greg! You and Sally, both!” John turned to Sherlock. “This bloody dickhead has got his final review for promotion next week, and, not only is he a nervous wreck, but he hasn’t got any of his paperwork together to go over with his boss!”_

_“Well, when I did some work on the side for Dimmock in Cold Cases, there used to be all out screaming matches when he’d get a promotion over someone else.” Sherlock said, thoughtfully. Greg all but choked on his pint._

_“You’re the reason Dimmock got that promotion?” He whistled. “Bloody hell! We were all wondering how the hell he managed that.” He shook his head._

_“You really think he could have done it on his own? Please.” Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes. “I mean, a week is a pretty tight schedule, but I can see what I can manage?”_

_Greg shook his head in wonderment. “Are you serious? That would be great! I’ve seemed to have plateaued at Detective Sergeant, when I know I can be a good Detective Inspector. You really think you can help me?”_

_“I can give it a shot.” Sherlock said, thoughtfully._

__=__

_Later, after the get-together at the pub, John had taken Sherlock down to the river and had rented a dinghy for an hour or so. “It’s a quiet pastime I like to indulge in.” He admitted. “Better than going home to a little flat.”_

_They sat in the boat in silence for a while, watching the moon, and trying to make out stars through the glare of the city lights. “You’re a very generous person, John.” Sherlock said, finally. “You give out a lot to people.”_

_“You do the same.” John smiled. “I saw you cheering our team on… quieter than most of the other tossers, but your intent was there.”_

_Sherlock offered a small smile. “Yes, well… I’ve never really been one for overtly public displays, unless it benefits me in some way, shape or form.” He admitted. “At least, that’s what my brother will tell you.” He looked up at the nearby Albert Bridge. “I really do like this bridge, you know… apparently someone in my family helped build it, or opened it, or something…” He shrugged. “Details lost to time… but I come here when I need to figure something out.”_

_“To build a bridge, as it were?” John smiled. Sherlock rolled his eyes._

_“That was a terrible joke.” There was a silence that stretched between them and John moved forward to kiss the taller man properly. “Oh, please, John… don’t.” Sherlock hung his head. “I’ve never been good with the intimate thing… I’ve gone and ruined it, haven’t I?”_

_“No.” John shook his head. “I was a bit forward. We can take our time.”_

_“I guess because I’m still on the rebound… God, I hate that word. Makes me sound like a bungee cord.”_

_“Well, who isn’t on a rebound, huh? I am, myself, I guess.” John offered._

_“Oh?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Who are you on the rebound from?”_

_“Mmm… a guy named James Sholto… my whole life seems to stem from the moment we broke up.”_

_“When was that, then?”_

_“1981, we were eleven at the time.”_

_Sherlock couldn’t help the shocked bark of laughter that burst forth from his mouth._

_“I loved him… or thought I did. But he left me.”_

_“For who?” Sherlock’s curiosity piqued._

_“Neil Diamond!” John shook his head. “Neil bloody Diamond! Can you believe it! All my friends were being left for people like Queen, or Pat Benatar, or Paul McCartney… but no, James wanted love on the rocks and to be his Sweet Caroline!”_

_Sherlock could not contain the laughter. “Oh, my God.”_

_“Got that right. I was devastated for months.” John grinned. “And my mother wouldn’t let me have any sort of anti-depressant, because it might spark my dad off-” John was cut off as Sherlock pressed warm lips against his. The kiss lasted mere seconds, but the moment seemed to last forever, until Sherlock finally pulled away and sat back, his cheeks red. “- so… so, I… um…”_

_“I kissed you.” Sherlock said, simply._

_“Yeah, I noticed that… you weren’t going to?”_

_“Call it… call it a momentary lapse of reason.”_

_“Hmmm… should I call Pink Floyd and pay them their royalties?” Sherlock looked confused. “A Momentary Lapse of Reason is a Pink Floyd album title, oh, never mind.” John laughed quietly. “Is that what it really was? A momentary lapse of reason?”_

_“Yes?” Sherlock mused. “No… I don’t know.”_

_“Look, Sherlock… I don’t want to be a confusion in your life, okay?” He sighed. “But something’s happened to me since meeting you and I don’t … I don’t know what to do about it…” His nervous chattering was silenced by Sherlock’s thumb brushing over his lips, and they kissed again._

__=__

_After getting to know each other’s lips and mouths for a time, they’d steered the boat back to shore and taken a cab back to Baker Street, where they had not-so-quietly made their way up to what was now Sherlock’s bedroom._

_John was an attentive lover, making sure that Sherlock was enjoying himself, very unlike Victor who just took what he wanted, when he wanted it, most of the time. For the first time, Sherlock felt appreciated and didn’t feel like he had to explain his limited knowledge of sex to John, allowing him to take the lead._

_Although they’d been as quiet as they could, Sherlock still had to bury his face in the pillow as he reached his first proper orgasm in a very long time. The feeling left him jelly legged and lethargic and he found himself drifting off to sleep._

__=__

_Sherlock slowly awoke the next morning, rolling over in bed, nuzzling the pillows, only to discover the crackling sound of paper laid there. He squinted, leaning up and reading the short note._

‘Now, that’s what I can a Momentary Lapse of Reason! You looked peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. John x

PS: Pink Floyd can piss off. I’m not paying royalties for that. I’m too much of a selfish bastard.’

_Sherlock smirked, reading the note over and over again, settling back into the pillows for a few minutes before deciding it was probably time to get up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and dressed hurriedly in his pyjamas and dressing gown, heading downstairs to make himself a coffee._


	5. Five

The shrill sound of a horn sounded from the road and the door to the dingy flat was wrenched open by Victor, in his hurry to get out, quickly locking the house and tossing his bag in the back of the sporty car. Jim sat in the driver’s seat, looking disdainfully up at the ramshackle building.

“Will you just drive, already?” Victor hissed. “Or are you waiting for one of the nosy neighbours to see you and possibly report back to Sherlock?!”

“I don’t know why you moved to a dive like this.” Jim sighed and started the motor, peeling out of the street fast enough to leave slight tire marks on the pavement on their way to Doncaster.

-+-

_Sherlock smiled as Greg whooped and cheered, before downing half a pint in absolute glee._

_“Sherlock, I couldn’t have done it without you, mate! Thank you so much!” Greg was just short of bouncing out of his skin, much to John’s amusement. Sherlock merely shrugged and nodded._

_“You’re welcome.” He said and Greg walked back to the bar to get another drink. The night wore on, the three of them, plus Sally celebrating Greg’s promotion, even if it made him technically Sally’s boss. Sally said that it was better than having one of the other wankers she worked with as her boss, and since Rogers was leaving, Greg would have an office and be out of her hair, most of the time. Everyone, even Sherlock, had laughed at that._

_As the others began to settle down a little, Sherlock let his gaze wander and his breath hitched in his throat as he stared out the window at …_

_…Victor._

_Excusing himself from the celebrations, he slipped outside, into the freezing cold, without his Belstaff on._

_“What the hell are you doing here?!” He said with a dark look._

_“I wanted to see you.” Victor said, wrapping his arms around himself._

_“What do you mean you wanted to see me? For God’s sake, Victor! I’ve moved on. You should too! How the hell did you know I’d be here?”_

_“Sally’s a friend of Irene’s … told her about it.” Victor said, numbly. “Look, I heard what you did for your copper friend, Sherlock, and I think it’s brilliant.” He paused. “Sherlock, we’ve been through too much together to just drop it all over one stupid mistake… please. I’m sorry, you’re too good of a catch not to fight for.”_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes and refused to look at him, instead looking at John through the window._

_“Is that your new man?” Victor asked._

_“That’s none of your god damn business, Victor.” Sherlock said, as John turned around to stare out the window at them both._

__=__

_“Who’s that? The ex?” Greg asked, squinting through the glass at the blurry figure next to Sherlock.’_

_“Suppose so. Never met him.” John shrugged._

_“Does Sherlock know about Mary and Rosie?”_

_“No.” John ran a hand through his hair. “But I like him, Greg. So much… I’m so bloody confused!”_

__=__

_“Victor, I really need to be getting back inside.” Sherlock said, a stony look on his face._

_“Sherlock, please come and see me… there’s too much that I want to say to you.” Victor swallowed. “Will you come?” Sherlock made no move to answer. “I’ll… I’ll call.” Victor finished. “It was really good to see you, Sherlock.”_

_He leaned in and kissed Sherlock on the side of his mouth, before turning and walking back up the street, disappearing around the corner. Sherlock swallowed hard, his breath misting in front of his face, before turning back into the warmth of the pub. Sitting down, he eyed the empty space next to Greg in the booth. “Where’s John?”_

_“He got a call from Sarah for an early start at the clinic, so he had to dash… he told me to tell you he was really sorry.” Greg smiled slightly. “Sarah’s a bit of a pushy boss.”_

_“Oh.” Sherlock nodded._

-+-

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and opened his message history with Victor.

_How’s the trip going? – SH_

But the message went unanswered. He shook his head. He was getting sentimental, it seemed. Victor was such a constant in his life, he felt wrong without him there.

_=_

In Doncaster, Jim tilted the glass of whisky against Victor’s lips, smirking as he watched the other man drink it down, before pressing a possessive kiss to his lips.

-+-

_Sherlock sat on the couch with his head in his hands. “He’s gone on to a medical conference in Wales.” He mumbled, as Molly handed him a cup of tea. “His boss wasn’t very helpful.”_

_“Do you really think he’s away?” Molly asked, gently._

_“No idea.” Sherlock sighed._

_“Maybe he’s avoiding you?”_

_“Don’t say that.”_

_“Did he actually leave a message?” Molly licked her lips. “Maybe you should have… do you think he saw Victor kiss you?”_

_“I don’t know!” Sherlock slapped his free hand against his knee. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! I_ hate _not knowing!”_

_Molly was quiet for a moment. “Well, it’s not worth getting agitated about.” She said, soothingly. “Victor called, by the way.”_

_“Oh, great. That’s comforting.” Sherlock grumbled. “Three months ago, I’d want Victor to come over and John would come over, now, I want John to call, and Victor does… bloody hell.”_

-+-

“You know me. I don’t often dream, or at least, _remember_ my dreams.” Sherlock sighed over the phone. “But you were there and you wanted to tell me something, but you couldn’t. But it was like an M. C. Esher room type of deal.”

“Oh, that does it…” Victor chuckled, looking over his shoulder, toward the bathroom. “I think you need some company. You’re going loony all by yourself.”

“I can’t. Mycroft has sapped all my energy at the moment. He keeps me on my toes from morning til evening with stupid little jobs that he deems ‘just right’ for me.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. There was a dull thud and a groan on the other end of the line. “What was that?”

“Oh,” Victor paused. “This little B&B I’m at has some couple next door who seem to be trying for the Guinness World Record of marathon sex. Crazy stuff.” He glared at Jim as the other man came hobbling in from the bathroom, still groaning.

“Sounds awful.” Sherlock said.

“Tell me about it.” Victor waved a hand to get Jim’s attention as he sat on the bed, but the other man ignored him. Panicking slightly, Victor shook his head. “I’m going to go and knock on the door, tell them to keep it down… some of us were up til God-knows-when looking at potential clubs that their boss can buy out.”

“Mmm… I’ll let you go. See you when you get back.” And he hung up. Victor sighed in relief and slammed the receiver down.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!?” He spat.

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, looking up, quirking an eyebrow. “I kicked my foot against the claw foot of the tub… I may have broken a bone!”

“I was on the phone to Sherlock!” Victor snapped. “Have you somehow forgotten that he doesn’t know you’re here?! He thinks I’m alone on a business trip, for Christ’s sake!”

“Oh, I remember!” Jim put his foot down and stood up shakily. “It’s kind of hard to forget!”

“Then _what_ are you trying to do?! Get me killed?!”

“Don’t you _know_ , Victor?! Don’t you _know_?!” Jim hobbled toward the taller man and glared, dangerously. “I’m _trying_ to be your fucking lover, for fuck’s sake!” He poked him in the chest. “I am _trying_ to get you back! This whole idea was that I could get you back! But apparently you are so fucking indecisive about whether you want me of Sherlock, I’m never going to get a straight answer!” He grabbed his Westwood jacket off the bed and slid it on, angrily, picked up his suitcase. “So, if you don’t know what this is Victor Trevor, let me enlighten you.” He picked up his shoes, slipping them on, wincing. “This is me, leaving you.” He stormed out the door. “AGAIN!” The door slammed, causing Victor to jump.

_=_

After he’d gotten over the shock of Jim storming out and peeling off in his sports car, Victor had calmly packed his suitcase and had made his way to the station, buying a ticket back to London. As soon as he reached the station, he took his carryall and raced straight to Irene’s favourite club, knowing she’d be there.

“I’ve done it! I’ve bloody well done it, Irene!” He said, slipping into her booth.

“Excellent, darling. Congratulations. Done what?” Irene sipped at her wine, watching Victor with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve done it!” Victor felt so pleased with himself.

“Oh, the club scouting? Excellent.”

“No! I’ve broken it off with Jim! I’ve ended the affair. The whole sordid thing. I was decisive, but fair! God, I feel good!”

Irene looked at him over her wine glass. “And how does Jim feel about it?”

“Well,” He stopped. “He’s not happy, of course, but he will be… you know, when he’s thought about it… I gotta go. I want to be back before Sherlock gets home.” He took Irene’s wine glass and took a sip, making a sour face. Irene merely laughed at him.

_=_

Sherlock sat in the cafeteria of Bart’s Hospital, looking at what was on the menu for lunch. Neither looked particularly appetising, but Molly had made him promise he would eat something other than a packet of crisps out of the vending machine while he worked.

“And why are you buying me cheap flowers from the Hospital gift shop?” His interest was piqued at the sound of a conversation at the table behind him. Two women were sitting across from each other. “You been cheating?”

“What?I bought those because I hardly ever buy you flowers and I thought it was about time!” The blonde stated. “Why would I cheat? I try to do something nice, and instead of being thanked, or even given a kiss, I’m instantly public enemy number one?”

“Yep, that’s right.” The redhead exclaimed. “You’ve been acting fishy as all hell lately, so I want to know about the turn around in this behaviour! It’s suspicious!”

_=_

Yawning as he unlocked the door and shoved it open, Sherlock ran a hand through his curls as he shed his Belstaff. It’d been a long and tiring day and he was ready to go to sleep. Yelping as something shot out in front of him, he focused his gaze on the bunch of slightly bedraggled flowers in front of him, following the arm attached to see Victor standing there, a smile on his face.

“Bloody hell, Victor. What are you doing here?”

“I got done early, so I thought I might surprise you.” Victor smiled. “I’ve got wine and Chinese take-out, thought you might like it.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but think back to the conversation he’d overheard in the cafeteria. He licked his lips.

-+-

_Sherlock leaned against the kitchen bench of the old flat, staring at the floor. Why was he here? He sighed. “I cannot get the image of that bloke treating you as a bottom.” He said, slowly. “I don’t even know why I agreed to come here.” Victor made a move to stroke his arm, but Sherlock shied away. “Don’t. Just don’t.”_

_“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I really am. Just put him out of your mind. I have… it’s over, between me and him. I promise you. I just want you to know how sorry I am that I cheated.” Victor bit his lip. “Hasn’t this new bloke, John Watson, ever made mistakes?”_

_“How do_ you _know his name?” Sherlock looked up, sharply._

_“Friend… friend or Irene’s works at the Met with that copper.” Victor admitted._

_“Well, I don’t want to talk about John Watson. In fact, I’m going to leave now, Victor.” Sherlock pushed off the counter and started toward the door._

_“But the way… I’ve told my boss to pass me over for the promotion.” Victor said after a moment. “Truth is, there’s just no point if you’re not with me. I just don’t care anymore.” He paused. “I want you to come back to me. We were so good together.”_

_The sound of Victor mobile ringing broke the uneasy silence. He backed away and picked it up off the table and answered it._

_“Hello?”_

_“I’m infected, Victor. I know I was clean before Doncaster.” Jim growled down the line._

_“Oh! Irene! Hi… I’m a bit busy at the moment. Can I call you back?” Victor asked. “Sure, okay. Later!” He hung up the phone quickly and placed it back on the table. Looking back at Sherlock, he rubbed his palms against his thighs. “I need the loo… I’ll be right back, please don’t leave.” He asked, before hurrying off to the bathroom._

_Sherlock stalked across the room and picked up the old mobile. He knew Victor’s PIN from when they were together and punched it in, looking up the recent contacts and dialling the most recent received call. It ran once, before being picked up._

_“Why are you pretending I’m Irene? You know I can’t stand that!” The voice was livid. “Victor? Who’s there with you?!”_

_“It’s Sherlock, actually.” He finally replied. “We met once. You were making my ex-boyfriend squeal like a stuck pig.” He dropped the phone on the table top, just as Victor returned to the kitchen. Turning to the man, he sneered. “You stupid, worthless wanker.”_

_And he walked out, slamming the door behind him._

__=__

_“Why do I feel like such an idiot?!” He paced the room, stepping on and over the coffee table, armchairs and the couch in irritation. “That useless, lying, two-faced, lying-”_

_“You said ’lying’, already.” Molly offered, before being shut down by his glare._

_“-Arsehole!” Sherlock collapsed onto the couch. “And you know the worst bit? While I was there, all I could think about was John… I felt like I was cheating on John.” He brought a cushion to his face and muffled an agitated scream._

_“That sounds like the best bit.” Molly mused._

_“He didn’t call, did he?” Sherlock asked, miserably. “That’s a week now, no call, no texts… I think I’ve blown that out of the water, completely.”_

__=__

_“Personally, I blame mobile telephones.” Irene mused, sipping her wine. “Lists of who called you recently, who you called recently, what numbers you didn’t answer, what numbers you did, people you’ve texted.” She shook her head. “They’re singlehandedly taking down the entire framework of my business, at least… so many of my clients are looking for a bit more excitement without their wives or girlfriends knowing about it.” She sighed._

_“Jim might have some STI.” Victor mumbled. Irene began to laugh._

_“Oh, my god.” She covered her mouth. “No more, please. All your drama certainly makes waiting for the next episode of_ The Bachelor _so much easier to bear, but please, no more!”_

_“I didn’t think it was turn out like this, Irene!” His tone was gloomy. “I mean, what the hell is going on?”_

_“Well, darling… if I may give it to you in plain English,” Irene shook her head. “You’ve just failed this whole relationship thing completely.”_

-+-

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Victor asked as he walked into the kitchen to find Sherlock making tea. “You seem a bit…. Out of it, since I got back from Doncaster.”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock said. “But there are a couple of things. Which one do you want to hear first?”

“I don’t mind.” Victor cocked his head to the side as he went to open the curtain.

“Well, the smaller thing is that someone might have a job for me to investigate a missing person case in a private capacity, as they don’t really trust the police to do their jobs.”

As he opened the curtain, Victor was surprised by the image of Jim standing at the window, staring at him with dark eyes and a stern look. “Bloody hell!” Sherlock turned to stare at him, a beat after he’d yelled. “I mean, that’s brilliant! Could really get your name out there!”

“Is the curtain stuck again?” Sherlock asked, noticing it was still closed. He edged over to the window and pulled it across, letting the sunlight in. There was no one on the other side of the glass.

Suddenly, Victor mobile rang. He fished it out of his pocket. “Hello?”

“I need to talk to you.” Jim murmured. “Come by my apartment, eight o’clock tomorrow?”

“Ah, sure, Irene. I’ll be there.” Victor smiled. “Yep, sure. No worries.” He hung up. “Irene’s clueless sister is coming to stay. She wants me to help make the house a bit plainer.” He chuckled. “I gotta go over there, tomorrow evening.” He made his way back toward the bedroom, before doubling back and looking into the kitchen. “Sorry, was there something else you needed to tell me?”

“Mmm? No.” Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing major.”

Victor smiled and ducked back to the bedroom.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long and rambling end to what was essentially a romantic comedy crossover.

_Sherlock sat at the desk in 221B, watching the phone for a long moment, before picking up the receiver, dialling the clinic number. Before he finished, however, he hung the phone up quickly, not wanting to come across as too needy._

Stop it, just stop it. _He told himself._ Call him.

_He picked up the phone again and dialled the number._

_“Medical Express Clinic, Sarah Sawyer speaking-”_

_Sherlock hung up very quickly. He stood up and bit his lip. Mrs Hudson stopped puttering about the kitchen to look at him._

_“You alright, Sherlock, love?”_

_“Ah… yes, Mrs Hudson… I’m… I’m just going out to the shops… can… can I get you anything?”_

_“Oh, no, dear. I’ve done my weekly shop.” Mrs Hudson smiled, concerned. “Are you sure you’re all right?”_

_“Yep.” Sherlock popped the ‘P’ sound. “Just fine… just… going to the shops.”_

_He grabbed his Belstaff and hurried down the stairs, just managing to stop himself from tripping down the decline._

_He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and made his way to Angelo’s, sitting at the preferred table in front of the window, a plate of Alfredo in front of him as he watched the sidewalk. John did come pass by. Sherlock sighed. It’d been a hell of a chance._

_He paid for his uneaten food and miserably walked back to Baker Street, passing the medical centre as he walked. Stopping for a moment, he looked in at the empty reception. Should he…? No. He continued on, watching the sidewalk._

_At the corner, someone bumped into him._

_“Oh, God… I’m so sorry!” A familiar voice said. Sherlock looked up to see John Watson, in the flesh._

_“Hi…” They had the same unsure inflection in their tones. “How… how are you?” They both chuckled. “Fine, I’m fine…” They both answered._

_“How’re you?” John asked, stupidly. “Oh, you just said you were fine…” He laughed to himself._

_There was an uneasy silence._

_“Business lunch?” Sherlock asked, indicating to the pub that John had just walked out of._

_“Hmm? Yeah, yeah. Just a small thing, really.” John brushed it off. “The clinic is just around the corner.”_

_“Yeah, I know.” Sherlock said, staring at the concrete. “Um… I thought you were away?”_

_“I was! Yeah… I only just got back last night, actually.” He paused. “Sherlock, please, don’t think I haven’t called because of…”_

_“Oh, please… no, it’s fine.” Sherlock continued to stare at the concrete. “I… I haven’t thought that…”_

_“No, I mean… don’t think that I haven’t called you, because I haven’t not called you… I mean…” John huffed. “Can’t say that… double negative. “I mean…”_

_“When did you call?” Sherlock asked, trying to keep the hopeful inflection out of his voice._

_“I… I didn’t.” John muttered. “But, I didn’t not call you in the way that you think… I’ve just been so busy with work and Sarah giving me stuff to do…” He sighed. “I thought you still had to deal with your ex…”_

_“What, Victor?” Sherlock looked surprised. “God, he’s been out of the picture for a long time… no matter what he thinks.” He sighed. “Victor is why you haven’t called?”_

_“Well, after the celebrations at the pub, I didn’t just want to assume…”_

_“You think I just go to bed with all the successful army doctor-slash-rugby players I lay my eyes on?” A beat. “So sorry, nervous humour… seems to be a new thing.”_

_“Well, I certainly hope not.” John smiled. There was a ringing sound from his jacket pocket. He flushed. “Excuse me.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Hello? Yes, this is he… oh, oh all right… yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you…” He hung up the phone. “It’s my sister. She’s been seeking treatment in a rehab facility. He doctors want to talk to me about her treatment…”_

_“Did you want me to come with you?” Sherlock asked, wondering why he was even offering. He hated rehab, ever since his brother had made him go in his early twenties._

_“Yeah, that’d be great…oh, but…” John frowned. “I don’t want to overwhelm her with new people, y’know?”_

_“Yes, of course.” Sherlock nodded. He’d hated meeting new people while in the throes of withdrawal. He understood._

_“Well, um… some friends and I are having dinner at the pub where we celebrated Greg’s promotion if you wanted to come?” Sherlock didn’t answer and John nodded. “Some other time, then…”_

_“I’d love to… I mean, if that’s okay?” Sherlock murmured._

_“Yeah.” John smiled, after a moment. “Of course, it’s okay, more than okay.” He hummed. “I’ll pick you up around eight?”_

_“Okay…” Sherlock smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then. And don’t worry about your sister… remember Monty Python.”_

_“Yeah.” John chuckled. “Alright, I’ll see you later.”_

_“Bye…” Sherlock hesitated for a moment and then headed in the direction back to Baker Street. John continued on toward the rehab centre, seeing a familiar head of blonde hair._

_“Hey, sorry for the delay.” He smiled. Kissing Mary, he walked with her into Reception so that they could both go and see Harry._

-+-

“Does Victor know… I mean, about you getting infected?” Molly asked.

“I haven’t told him yet. I’m really not happy about it, but luckily it wasn’t anything more serious.” Sherlock muttered. “Never seems to be the ‘right’ moment, somehow.”

“Come on,” Molly smiled. “Let’s just have a proper drink and forget out if for a few hours.”

“Bloody beautiful idea, Molly.” Sherlock smiled and got up, heading to the liquor cabinet. He looked in the rather sparse cupboard and sniffed.

“What’ve you got?”

“Uhm… whisky?”

“Eugh, no… after my brother’s bachelor night, it makes me vomit, horrible stuff.”

-+-

_Molly looked up as Sherlock came out, dressed in his best pair of trousers and a shirt that she’d bought him on a whim. She nodded, smiling. “You look perfect, Sherlock.” She murmured._

_At the pub, Sherlock listened to Greg tell some tall story about a case he’d been a part of when he first became a copper, and the group laughed as one. Sherlock looked at John, surprised to see the doctor looking back at him and they smiled at each other._

_The night wore on, and the group broke up, wishing each other good night. John walked Sherlock home. It would have ended there, with a kiss good night, but in a burst of inspiration, Sherlock invited John up to his room, where they made love, gently and practically worshipping each other._

__=__

_A few days later, Sherlock came home from an investigation. Molly was reading a magazine in her chair, and looked up at him. “Figured it out pretty quickly, eh?”_

_Sherlock shook his head, miserably. Molly got up and wrapped her arms around her best friend. “What’s wrong?”_

_Sherlock hiccupped and showed her the printout of the doctor’s exam he’d had a few days before. Molly read it and frowned._

_“Positive for gonorrhoea?” She asked, “Oh, Sherlock… he could have had it for a while, it doesn’t mean he knowingly gave it to you.” She paused. “What are you gonna do?”_

_Sherlock sighed. “I suppose I have to tell him.”_

__=__

_He walked into the clinic with his head held high. The receptionist smiled as he approached the desk. “Hi… is Doctor John Watson in, at the moment?”_

_“I’m afraid not…” The receptionist said, apologetically._

_“Do you know when he’ll be back?”_

_“I’m not sure. He’s gone to the rehab centre to visit his sister, with his wife. Would you like to leave a message?”_

_Sherlock blinked. “What?”_

_“Can I take a name and number that he can contact you on?” The receptionist smiled._

_Sherlock took a deep breath, and without answering, turned on his heel and walking out of the clinic. Surely, the receptionist must be wrong. He waved down a taxi, directing the driver to the nearest rehab. Getting out of the car before paying, he glanced across the street to see John with a blonde woman, kissing her lips. His heart shattered, and he got back in the car, telling the driver to take him back home._

-+-

“There’s something I want you to know.” Sherlock said, sitting on the couch, not facing Victor, who sat at the rickety kitchen table behind him. He turned his head. “Molly doesn’t drink whisky, Victor, it makes her vomit.” Victor frowned, silently asking where this was going. “And that whisky only comes out for when Mycroft comes around, you know that.”

Victor schooled his face into a neutral expression. “What are you trying to tell me, Sherlock?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything. I’m asking you, very plainly, whether you’re having an affair.”

“No.” Victor answered, getting up and walking toward Sherlock, where he sat. Kneeling down in front of him, he took his lover’s hands in his. “Sherlock, look into my eyes. I am not having an affair.”

Sherlock took a breath. “I shouldn’t have started this. I’m going to be late for this interview.” He stood up and grabbed his coat. “We’ll talk when I get back… you _are_ going to be here when I get back, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course!” Victor smiled. “Good luck with this new client!”

Sherlock only nodded as he shut the door behind him.

-+-

_The ringing of the phone brought Molly out of her bedroom, having been immersed in a new Mills and Boon novel. “Hello?”_

_“Hi, Molly… is Sherlock there?”_

_“You’ve got a bloody death wish, phoning here!” Molly growled, slamming the phone into its cradle._

_John looked at the mobile in his hand, confused. Not wanting to trust the phone lines again, he realised he was only around the corner from Baker Street, so he hurried to the address and rang the doorbell. Knocking on the door with a flat hand, he leaned against the door jam. “Molly, please, I don’t know what the hell is going on!”_

_The door opened abruptly. “_ You _don’t know what’s going on?” She laughed, sarcastically. “Sherlock saw you, at the rehab centre, with your wife. You know, the woman with the bloody wedding ring! What is it with you bloody men?!”_

_“Oh, shit!” John groaned, as Molly’s words registered in his mind. “Where is he?!”_

_“I don’t know! And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!” Molly slammed the door in his face._

_“Bollocks!” John headbutted the door. “Oh, you bloody idiot!” He reprimanded himself. Turning on his heel, he raced to Angelo’s, opening the door. “Angelo, you seen Sherlock?”_

_“No, not today, John…” Angelo said, but was cut off as John raced out the door, again._

_John went to the favourite pub, looking around at the bar flies that occupied the joint at this time of day, to no avail. He raced to the bridge he and Sherlock had viewed on their first proper date._

_He was about to give up, when he saw a long black coat flapping in the wind. “Sherlock!”_

_The head of dark brown curls looked up and he turned away, ready to walk in the opposite direction._

_“Sherlock! Sherlock, you made a mistake! Sherlock!” John ran down the bridge, rain soaking through his casual jumper, but he didn’t care. He needed to talk to Sherlock, that’s all that mattered. “Please, look at me, Sherlock, you need to listen-”_

_“No,_ you _listen!” Sherlock snapped. “I have been through enough shit for one year. I don’t need you to compound it! I stupidly believed that here was a guy who was unlike other guys… but I was wrong. Now, do me the world’s biggest favour, and_ go away _.” Sherlock turned and tried to storm away, held back only by John’s hand on his wrist._

_“I am married, Sherlock, but I am separated. Walk away if you must, but take this information with you…” John yelled after him. “The woman you saw today was the woman I married five years ago. We have a daughter, Rosamund, Rosie for short… we separated amicably a year ago… we’re better off as friends, no lovers. I didn’t tell you because I wanted a new start. I wanted to tell you, so many times, but now that you’ve found out another way, I wish I had just bitten the bullet and told you straight up.” He took a deep breath. “My sister is in rehab on her own merit and we were playing happy families for her and our daughter. Mary is a lovely woman, I think you’d like her… I was scared, Sherlock… I didn’t know what to think or do… I’m a prize idiot…”_

-+-

The door to Jim’s apartment opened to reveal Victor, looking harried. “Ten minutes, Jim, and not a second longer.” He hissed, crossing the threshold. “We are over, and I don’t want you showing up, unannounced at my kitchen window, ever again.”

“I know.” Jim said, apologetically. “It’ll only take a second, I promise… I just need to show you something.”

-+-

_Sherlock turned slowly, the rain pelting down and plastering his curls to his head._

_“Please, Sherlock, if we’re not going to be together, then let it be for the right reason… but there is no reason for us to not be together… please reconsider.” John looked absolutely miserable in the pouring rain._

-+-

There was an abrupt knock at the door. Victor was distracted from looking at the sheet of paper in his hand.

“Be a doll and get that, would you?” Jim asked, voice floating through from the kitchen as he poured a glass of wine.

Victor slowly put the sheet of paper down and stumbled toward the front door of the apartment. He opened it and raised his eyes to meet…

…Sherlock stared at his boyfriend in the doorway of his apparent new employer.

“Of course, you’ll need to get tested, darling…” Jim purred as he came to the door. Looking at Sherlock, he smiled softly. “Oh, hello… you’re right on time, Sherlock.”

-+-

_“Is this the truth, John?” He asked, unable to decipher truth from lie. John nodded and moved forward, taking Sherlock’s hand and opening a small box, containing a silver ring._

_“Permission to engage enemy party, Sir.” He said, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. Sherlock choked back a sob and allowed the shorter man to slip the ring onto his finger._

-+-

“I’m afraid this meeting cannot continue, as I’m telling your boyfriend to go and get tested, because he seems to have given me gonorrhoea.” Jim said, his expression impassive, but a dark glint in his eye.

-+-

_“John…” Sherlock murmured as they strolled. “I really should call Molly… let her know that I’m okay… she and Mrs Hudson will be worrying something awful.” He smiled and turned away._

_“Hey, Sherlock…” John smiled. “I love you.”_

_Sherlock supressed a grin as he stepped away, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and pressing Molly on speed-dial._

-+-

“I’m sorry you found out about us this way, Sherlock.” Jim murmured, clearly not sorry at all. “But, surely it’s for the best?”

Sherlock turned and fled, taking the stairs two at a time, ignoring Victor as he raced after Sherlock. He felt the sleeve of his coat catch on something and turned slightly to see Victor grabbing it. The motion made him lose his balance and tumble down the stairs.

-+-

_“Sherlock!” John cried out as his now-fiancé stepped off the curb to speak to Molly, only to be directly in the path of a van going several miles above the speed limit. There was a dull_ thud _and Sherlock’s body went flying._

-+-

Hours went by after the ambulance had brought Sherlock to the closest hospital. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s emergency contact, had been called and his paperwork had seemingly disappeared, only to return fully completed.

Victor stood to the side, crying openly, as Mycroft finished talking to the doctors responsible for Sherlock’s well-being.

“You can stop the crocodile tears, Victor.” Mycroft sneered. “I know what you did. I’ve been keeping a careful eye on you and your… endeavours.” Victor gulped. “The only reason I never called you out on your behaviour, was because it would break my brother’s heart. Now, when he wakes, you will go in there and tell him everything… and I mean _everything_ , else you find files on your laptop and mobile devices that will be enough to imprison you for the next fifty years, are we clear?”

-+-

_Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s emergency contact, strode through the emergency room door and lay eyes on John Watson._

_“So, you are the man that stole my little brother’s heart.” Mycroft murmured. “His paperwork has been taken care of. The doctors can’t promise me if he will wake up any time soon, but you are more than welcome to sit with him.” He sighed. “Were you close?”_

_John swallowed. “I… I asked him to marry me.” He whispered. “He’s a wonderful man.”_

_“According to his file, he has suffered extensive internal injuries.” Mycroft’s face was impassive. “It may be touch-and-go for a while.”_

-+-

A doctor came out to see Victor, who jumped at the light touch on his shoulder.

“Sherlock has some internal bleeding, Victor… it may be a while until he wakes up.”

“May… may I see him?”

-+-

_“He is going to wake up… isn’t he?” John asked quietly. Mycroft shrugged._

_“I hardly know. My brother is as stubborn as they come, but even he has his limits.”_

_A few hours later, Mycroft has been called away to deal with more paperwork, and John was left, sitting by Sherlock’s side._

_“Sherlock, I know you can hear me…” John murmured. “I just wanted to say… I’m glad we got things sorted out. I would have hated to end our time on a bloody petty argument.” A long pause. He barely knew what to say. “I… I’m so happy that you caught the train that day… I’m sop happy to have met you… you bring a light into my life that I thought was lost forever.” He bowed his head over Sherlock’s prone body. “I’m going to make you so happy…” He murmured. “I promise.”_

_The constant beep of the heart monitor gave way to an elongated tone. John buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder and sobbed._

-+-

The heart monitor beeped constantly. He was the sound that drew Sherlock out of his sleep. He blinked, tiredly, focusing on Victor sitting off to the side.

“Sherlock?” Victor asked, hopefully. “Are you awake?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. His mind spun into overdrive as he thought of the Albert Bridge… a small restaurant called Angelo’s… a friendly pub that seemed warm and homey… the train.

-+-

Elsewhere, in another part of the hospital, a short statured man rounded the corner, sticking his hand out to shake with a doctor. “Hi! So sorry I’m late… clinic hours don’t run the regular.”

“No, it’s fine. I understand… we’ve all done our time there.” The doctor laughed. “You sister seemed to be doing much better. She ate a full breakfast this morning, and her headaches seem to be fewer.”

“Really? Oh, that’s great!”

As they passed a room on the recovery wing, John glanced in to seem a curly haired young man with his friend.

“Sherlock,” Victor murmured. “I will do anything you want… anything, to show that I am fully sorry for what I did.”

“Really?” Sherlock murmured. “Then what I want you to do is to get up, walk over to the door, open it, walk through it, and close it behind you. I never was to see you, or hear from you, ever again.”

Victor hesitated for a moment, before getting up. If it was what Sherlock wished, then there was no going back. He’d fucked this relationship up, and now it was time to face the consequences.

-+-

“Ta-ta, Harry. I’ll be back tomorrow.” John smiled as he opened the door to his sister’s room. “I’ll even bring Rosie.” He chuckled, before waving once more and closing the door behind him, heading toward the lift.

He passed a door as it opened, but was too preoccupied to notice what was happening.

“Call us if you have any concerns.” The Doctor was saying as the tall, young man hefted his overnight bag out the door. “You had a very lucky escape, Sherlock.”

“You can say that again.” Sherlock murmured. Offering a smile to the doctor, he headed down toward the lift, hands full of a cold case file that Dimmock had managed to sneak into him. He looked up in time to see the lift doors just closing and he pressed the call button just a fraction of a second too late.

With a huff, he resolved to wait, until the doors opened again… it seemed someone had managed to pressed the Open-Door button just in time. Hefting his bag into the lift, he sighed as he dropped a piece of paper from his cold case onto the floor of the elevator.

The man beside his bent to pick it up and handed it back to him. Glancing at his face, the man smiled.

“Cheer up, you know what Monty Python’s Flying Circus always says…” He said, reassuringly.

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.” Sherlock answered, automatically.

After a beat, the two looked at each other in surprise and wonderment as the lift doors closed.


End file.
